


Bachelor of Steel

by millsenberry



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8131624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millsenberry/pseuds/millsenberry
Summary: Under increasing pressure from his Council to select a suitor and marry, Elder Arthur Maxson of the Brotherhood of Steel is forced into participating in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of courting a number of high-standing Brotherhood women at once.Desperate to avoid officially committing to any of the high-born suitors eager to become the next leading Lady of the Brotherhood of Steel, Maxson turns to the Commonwealth Expedition’s latest recruit, a pre-war vault dweller under the sponsorship of his most trusted Paladin. Tasked with appearing as the front runner of Maxson’s affections, Serena Howard rises to the occasion of sabotaging group dates and putting on a convincing display of romantic interest in Maxson to sufficiently deceive his order. With the assurance of being released from her promise to him once his peers have returned to the Citadel, Serena does her best to ensure that the High Elder is not entrapped into a courtship that he cannot get out of.Shenanigans ensue. [Inspired by the reality television show, The Bachelor]





	1. Chapter 1

 

After only a mere four years of leadership, scowling came quite unconsciously to the young High Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. For as long as anyone currently serving within the Brotherhood could remember, Arthur Maxson had scowled. He was first consciously observed to have scowled the evening that the death of his mentor, Elder Owyn Lyons, had been announced to the stunned Citadel. He had scowled not very long after at the announcement that Lyon’s successor, Elder Sarah Lyons, had fallen in battle. He had scowled the day that the Elders had elected him the next High Elder of the Brotherhood, and had scowled some more when he had disembarked from his personal Vertibird at Fort Independence to negotiate with the Outcasts. He had even scowled the first time that the Prydwen’s engines roared to life, seemingly unfazed by the cheers and salutations of the ecstatic engineering crew surrounding him. Those who had not met the once-timid descendent of Roger Maxson prior to his ascension within the Brotherhood ranks might even say that he had even scowled from the moments following after his mother had pushed him into the world; others might say that the wind had changed direction as his face contorted while wrestling a deathclaw at the age of thirteen, successfully killing the beast by embedding the two mere combat knives he wielded into the creature’s kidneys.   

 

It could not be denied that there was something oddly charismatic about the demeanour Maxson radiated when his face was etched with a scowl, the premature lines of aging caused by stress and demands of leadership permanently wrinkled from his trademark expression. 

 

What could only be described as the mother of all scowls currently donned Maxson’s scarred and bearded features, his icy blue eye ablaze with annoyance. The thick manilla folder that Lancer Captain Kells had delivered to him, the object of his frustration, lay discarded on his desk beside an open bottle of vodka. The smell of the alcohol was sharp within the confines of the room. A feeble knock on the door of his quarters was barely audible as Maxson chugged away another shot glass of the acidic-like liquid, his pulse pounding in his ears, coughing a little as his throat burned. His thick battlecoat grew tight, his black flight suit straining as his broad chest heaved.

 

Maxson’s door clanged open and the figures of two young squires emerged from the doorway, saluting the Elder and addressing him endearingly in squeaky, pre-pubescent voices. They both promptly scampered back out of the door after announcing the arrival of Paladin Danse, who had to bend forwards slightly to fit his massive hulk-like figure through the doorway of the Elder’s quarters.

 

Danse straightened, the actuators in his power armor’s knees creaking slightly as he saluted Maxson respectfully. His eyes travelled over to the half-empty bottle of vodka on Maxson’s table and the used glass beside it before returning to the flustered face of his Elder. “You called for me, Sir?” he asked.

 

Maxson gestured at one of the seats beside his table. “Have a seat, if you would, Paladin.”

 

The Paladin looked from the Elder to the small chair before inwardly cringing. With a hiss, his power armor opened and he stepped out of his steel frame, promptly seating himself at the table and folding his arms in an unconscious effort to make himself feel less naked without his armor. Danse blinked uncertainly as the Brotherhood leader squirmed uncomfortably before him, his scowl ever deep as he leaned his gloved hands against the backside of his unoccupied chair.

 

“Is something amiss, Arthur?” Danse asked, perturbed at the sight of his leader so unsettled before him.

 

Maxson gestured at the manilla folder atop of the table before them, his face remaining turned towards the floor as his fists curled harder on the back of his chair. His scarred knuckles turned white with the effort. Danse continued to blink uncertainly at the folder, looking increasingly confused.

 

His frustration reaching boiling point, Maxson practically threw a folder across the table at Danse. Black and white photographs spilled from the folder onto the table and floor. Danse tentatively picked the folder up and flicked it open, his eyebrows raised in surprise. His scarred brows disappeared further into his hood as he quickly scanned the papers within, his mouth agape.

 

“This…they cannot be serious, Sir,” Danse finally stuttered.

 

“You know them as well as I do, Danse,” Maxson sighed, pouring himself another shot of vodka. “They are perfectly serious.”

 

“But Sir… dating five women at the same time? Why?”

 

“The Citadel Elders have been on my back for a while about courting and choosing a wife so that the Maxson bloodline can continue,” Maxson sighed, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. “I was too preoccupied with organising the Prydwen’s journey to the Commonwealth and declaring war on the Institute to take their requests seriously. I promised that I would consider it in a number of months. It seems that those number of months have passed and they have become… impatient.”

 

“Pushy is the word I think you meant, Arthur.”

 

“… Impatient. Lancer Captain Kells has been tasked with arranging to have the suitors brought from the Citadel here to the Prydwen to commence the courtship proceedings-”

 

Danse snorted uncharacteristically.

 

“- to commence the courtship proceedings, and for me to choose a suitable wife before the month’s end.”

There was silence for a moment, Danse’s stunned face reflecting what Maxson had felt before he began to submerge himself in vodka. “Surely you do not have to agree to this, Arthur?”

 

“I don’t think I have a choice, Danse,” Maxson sighed. “If I do not agree to this, they will not relent. According to them, I should have been married and siring Maxson children once I turned eighteen. It is my… _duty_ … as a High Elder, and a Maxson.”

 

“But to make you choose a wife in such a process? Group dates? Single dates? Competing for one on one time with you? Chaperones? This… _Steel Ceremony_? What on Earth is that nonsense?”

 

Maxson shrugged.

 

“And these names, Sir… the suitors are all either daughters or related to the Elders back at the Citadel!”

 

“Officially their choices are because these women do not serve to me directly, so there will be no opportunity for per-conceived bias or previously placed affections. You know as well as I do that these women would wed me because they only care for my name and my title,” Maxson drawled. “If I were to choose any of these women to court as my wife, there would be no going back on my choice either. I would be obligated to marry them or risk infuriating the other Elders and gaining disapproval of the troops back on the East Coast. Not to mention that the relation of the woman I wed would be able to sink their claws even further into my leadership, indirectly through her.” The Elder paused, the depth of his agitation at his current situation darkening his features further. If looks could kill, Maxson’s face of thunder could have slain an entire army of deathclaws.

 

“There are only four pictures here, Sir,” Danse observed, turning the photographs over in his hand as he scrutinized the faces of the Brotherhood women staring back at him.

 

“The Elders have been _kind_ enough to suggest that Captain Kells, yourself and the Proctors choose the fifth woman for me to court,” Maxson huffed.

 

“From the Prydwen’s crew?” Danse was surprised. “Even if that is considered fraternization and biased?”

 

“ _Particularly_ from the Prydwen’s crew,” Maxson's frown lines deepened, if it were possible. “Were this not concerning me, I would commend them for their tactics. They know that I personally selected each and every member of the crew to travel to the Commonwealth, and consider them my true brothers and sisters. I wouldn’t dream of entering a courtship and fraternizing with any one of the crew. They are using that to their advantage. They want to appear to the Commonwealth Expedition and the other Brotherhood Chapters that they are giving me a choice, but in actual fact are cementing their goals into making one of their relations the next Lady Maxson.”

 

Silence fell in the Elder’s quarters as the leader of the Brotherhood began to pace, his legs restless in his agitation, and his Paladin continued to look as though he had been bowled over by a Brahmin. Around them, the Prydwen rumbled and tugged at her moorings in the afternoon breeze, oblivious to the distress that her astute leader was under.

 

“Call me a romantic Danse, but I always envisioned one day that I would marry for love,” Maxson sighed, his features softening as he deposited himself heavily into his chair. The now empty bottle of vodka keeled over onto the floor with a loud _smash_ as the table shook. Shards of glass flew around the steel floor of his quarters. “And here I am, being pressured into marrying a woman who only wants to wed me for my name and title. I have never admitted this to anyone beforehand Danse, but… I often curse that I was born a Maxson.”

 

Danse remained silent, carefully returning the photographs to the folder and sliding it back onto the table between them. “If I might… make a suggestion, Sir?” he dared asked slowly.


	2. Chapter 2

Serena Howard hummed softly to herself as she watched the day’s heat sizzle off the metal framework of a poorly-erected shack through the scope of her sniper rifle, ignoring the tickle of beads of sweat that slowly trailed down her forehead. On her left wrist, the slow melody of the remaining chords of an _Ink Spots_ classic permeated softly from her pip-boy’s speakers. She licked her dry lips, feeling them smart with sun burn beneath her tongue.

 

_I don’t want to set the world on fiiirrreee…_

Through her lens, an unsuspecting Raider cautiously peered around him before disappearing behind the remains of a blasted tree trunk, intent of relieving himself in private.

 

_I just want to starrrttt… a flame in your hearrrttt._

The song finished with a flourish before silence fell, broken only by the sound of insects clicking and buzzing in the Commonwealth heat.

 

_You’re listening to Radio Freedom, voice of the Minutemen…_

The sound of a raider loudly passing gas echoed over to Serena’s location, yards away from their camp. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

_Nothing new to report. Keep it tuned for Minutemen alerts._

 

Serena’s ears perked up as the familiar chords of her favourite song finally began to emit from the radio. Feeling a wave of newfound energy wash over her, she moved herself off of her stomach and into crouching position, balancing the barrel of her rifle onto her bent knee. Her prey appeared to whistle merrily as he zipped up the fly of his raider leathers, oblivious to a hunter eyeballing him among the dead and decaying shrubbery.

 

_OHHH well I’m the type of guy who will never settle down…_

The Gauss rifle fired with a deafening roar. The bald raider’s head exploded in a glorious red mess.

 

_Where pretty girls are, well you know that I’m around…_

Serena inhaled deeply and held her breath again, focusing her scope on a raider encased in power armor who had sprung up in response to the sight of his fellow’s unexpected decapitation. She smirked, noting through her lens that the raider had conveniently neglected to don the power armor helmet atop of the table next to him.

 

_I kiss ‘em and I hug ‘em, coz to me they’re all the same…_

Holding the trigger of the rifle for a few seconds, Serena released her finger and the charged weapon fired again. The shielded raider’s headless body slumped to the ground, his prized power armor relatively undamaged and ready for the taking.

 

_I hug ‘em and I squeeze ‘em, but they don’t even know my name…_

Releasing her breath and barely concealing a proud grin, Serena swiftly removed an electromagnetic cartridge from an ammo pocket on her belt, depositing it into her rifle in a fluid motion as she simultaneously ejected the empty cartridge.

 

_They call me the wanderer. Yeah, the wanderer…_

Watching the remaining members of the small raiders camp begin to run around in a panic as they searched for any hints of the direction of the attacker, Serena swapped her Gauss for her Spray n’ Pray. She never enjoyed a bloodbath, but the opportunity could not be missed. Empty bullet cases began to litter the ground around her soiled boots as she aimed at the fish in a barrel, neglecting to focus her sights and firing straight from the hip. It took naught more than a couple of seconds for her to decimate the raiders, the dry brown earth of the camp beginning to soak red with blood.

 

_I go around and round and round and round…_

“I’ve got another suit of power armor to add to our collection, Dogmeat!” Serena called over her shoulder brightly to the lithe German Shepard who waited patiently behind her at a safe distance, camouflaged amongst an array of dead foliage. A petite Brotherhood of Steel squire bobbed up and down at the mutt’s side, eager to get down into the raider camp and survey his mentors’ handiwork.

 

“That was _awesome_ , ma’am!”

 

* * *

 

 

Proctor Ingram snorted loudly at the sight of the Brotherhood’s latest recruit as she clunked into the power armor bay back aboard the Prydwen, her auburn eyebrows raised at the mismatched and rugged-looking suit. “What hole did you pick that monstrosity out of, Knight?” Ingram smirked, trudging forward to inspect the armor as Serena clambered out of the frame.

 

The Knight ran her fingers through her dark hair, taking a deep breath of relief. Serena detested wearing power armor. It never failed to reignite not-so-distant memories of being encased and restrained in a cryostasis pod, despite her delight at locating another intact power armor to salvage. “Found it on some raider gang leader on our way back from clearing out Breakheart Banks,” Serena replied, looking at the frame with an expression of distaste upon her face. The raider power armor was a stark contrast to the clean and well-maintained power armor of the Brotherhood. What originally may have been the build of a T-51 model had been repaired and reinforced with pieces of scrap metal and the like to create an indistinguishable and fierce-looking hulk of walking junk. But Serena knew she could not afford to be picky.

 

“Well, every part helps, I guess,” Ingram replied, ejecting the almost-spent fusion core from the back of the frame and handing it to Serena. “I’ll see what I can salvage from this piece of cra- from this- _thing_.”

 

“Do you think we’ll have enough resources collected to be able to go into the Glowing Sea soon?” Serena asked hopefully.

 

“With this suit and some of the others you’ve brought me, we have more than enough parts to begin working on modifying the power armor suits for such a high-risk mission,” Ingram replied, continuing to inspect the armor closely. “But even so, your mission with Paladin Danse into the Glowing Sea will not be for a while, I’m afraid.” Serena’s face fell. “Our main issue is collecting enough lead to create the shielding we need to line your suits. The pure stuff, too, which is rare. Pure lead means higher molecular density. Higher molecular density means less likelihood of baking our newest favourite Brotherhood soldier.”

 

“You lost me at higher molecular density, Ingram.”

 

The Proctor chuckled, the sound of metal grinding against metal as she attempted to wrestle the raider power armor’s helmet off of its frame. It came off with a hair-raising screech. She looked a little disgusted as she peered down at the scavenged helmet in her hands. “Homemade, most likely…” she muttered, shaking her head. “I must commend them for their ingenuity…” 

 

“Surely there are a number of pre-war buildings you’d be able to find what is needed, though?” Serena asked hopefully. “Imaging buildings where x-rays and ultrasounds used to take place, power plant sites? They are bound to have lead there in their radiation-shielding equipment.”

 

“Don’t think we haven’t thought of that already, sister. But combing those pre-war buildings takes time. So keep collecting those lead batteries and pencils.”

 

Serena sighed and turned grudgingly on her heel, heading for the mess hall beside the power armor bay where she could hear Dogmeat barking playfully. As she entered the hall, the massive figure of her sponsor stood bent over her mutt, rubbing the dog’s pink and exposed belly as Dogmeat squirmed and panted with delight. She stopped, surprised to see that he had returned to the Prydwen from Fort Strong so quickly.

 

“Have you already finished the retrieval at the Fort, Danse?” Serena asked, neglecting to greet him.

 

The Paladin straightened, a smile etched on the corners of his lips as Dogment pawed and jumped up at his bulky frame. His long nails clicked against the steel, his tail wagging to and fro. Danse satiated the dog with stroking behind his fluffy ears, Dogmeat’s eyes closing in contentment.

 

“All of the fat man components, shells and mini nukes are locked, loaded, and safely under the ownership of the Brotherhood of Steel,” Danse confirmed proudly. “I must commend you again on a mission well done in helping me secure the facility, Howard.” The Paladin paused, peering at what was visible of the power armor bay through the doorway behind Serena. He could see Proctor Ingram attacking the raider power armor fiercely with a Fumigas blowtorch, her scarred face baring what could only be described as a snarl as she began to dismantle the frame. “You found another suit, Knight?” Danse asked, somewhat surprised.

 

Serena nodded ecstatically. “Came across this one while escorting a Squire back from cleansing out Breakheart Banks of muties. Pretty proud of myself, considering you weren’t there, tin can.”

 

Danse ignored her playful jab. Serena was always one for using terms of endearment.  

 

“Are you free at the moment, Howard?”

 

The smell of fried mirelurk cakes and tato salsa permeated through the air from the mess hall stove to their right. Serena’s nose twitched unconsciously at the welcome scent, her stomach growling inaudibly amongst the sound of cutlery and china tinkling from the soldiers eating their dinner around them.  “I suppose so…” she began, looking pointedly over at the mess hall officer.

 

Danse failed to notice. “Then Elder Maxson wishes to have a word with you, Knight.”

 

“Why? What did I do?” Serena exclaimed immediately.

 

* * *

 

 

Serena followed Danse through the metal halls of the Prydwen towards the front of the main deck, feeling rather anxious. She had only ever been summoned to the presence of the legendary Arthur Maxson twice, and both times had certainly been memorable. The first time she had met the Elder, she had been swept through to the command deck the moment she had stepped onto the Prydwen to witness the charisma and tenacity of the Elder in person. She had stood among the surrounding crew beside Danse, looking out of place in her grimy vault suit and the mismatched leather armor she had managed to scavenge. She had been secretly impressed with Maxson’s fervent speech before finding herself being slapped with a promotion to Knighthood that she had neither expected or, to be truthful, wanted. Maxson had not wasted words with her, and his interactions with her were short and straight to the point. He had not seemed fazed or awed by the fact that she was a pre-war Boston citizen, expressing interest only in the knowledge that the vault she had emerged from was still reasonably intact. He had certainly showed her no special consideration when he had thrown her straight into the deep end, tasking her with extracting valuable weaponry and ammo from Fort Strong under the guidance of Danse. The promise that they could work together to achieve their mutual goal in locating Virgil and thus the Institute seemed, at present, to be the only reason that the newly recruited Commonwealth wastelander had been accepted so readily aboard the ship. Only Proctor Ingram and Captain Cade had seemed to take a genuine liking to her.

 

Had it not been for the steadfast and comforting presence of her sponsor on what little time she had spent so far on the floating Brotherhood boat, Serena might have been tempted to forgo the faction’s help entirely and taken her chances in wandering out into the Glowing Sea to find Virgil on her own… most likely to be baked by radiation or torn apart by deathclaws.

 

“I wish you’d tell me why Maxson’s asked to see me, Danse,” Serena muttered, coming to a halt behind Danse as he stopped abruptly in front of Maxson’s door.

 

“It is not my place to say, Howard,” Danse replied, rapping sharply on the door of the quarters. “I just ask in advance that you keep an open mind. As a favour to me and the respect that I have for my leader and friend, I ask that you please consider what Maxson is about to propose to you.”

 

“A favour to you? Propose? Danse, what are you-”

 

The door to the Elder’s quarters swung open at that precise moment, presenting the ever scowling face of Elder Maxson. “Paladin. Knight,” he greeted them in what sounded like a grudging voice. “Please, come in.” He stood backwards, politely holding the door open for them.

 

Serena looked uncertainly at Danse, who nodded reassuringly to her and promptly pushed her into the room with an armored hand in the small of her back.

 

“Do have a seat,” the Elder offered, in a clear attempt to appear hospitable. Serena sank into one of the chairs at the table at the centre of the room, shooting Danse an annoyed look when she noted he remained beside the closed door, his posture formal and attentive. Maxson sauntered passed them. He appeared to be deliberately avoiding looking at her.

 

Moments passed, with only the metallic sounds of the Prydwen rumbling and moaning around them to break the silence. The air within the cabin was extremely awkward. The Elder remained standing before his terminal, his hands behind his back. Serena sat ramrod straight against the hard steel chair at the table. The towering form of Paladin Danse in his power armor remained by the door. Being with two such powerful looking and bulked up men made the room seemed slightly claustrophobic, somehow. Serena felt her heart begin to race, and she shoved her hands under her thighs to stop herself from fidgeting.

 

“You might be wondering why I have taken the time to summon you this evening, Knight,” Maxson began slowly, turning to face her.

 

“Just a little,” Serena admitted warily. How domineering and impressive the Elder looked in his battlecoat. She wondered absently if she would be able to requisition one for herself. And that black flightsuit he wore underneath! It was  _fabulous_. What rank did she have to achieve within the Brotherhood to get out of the hideous orange flightsuit she had been provided with and into one of those?

 

“I have called for you this evening because I have found myself to be in… an awkward situation, Knight,” Maxson muttered, looking down at his steel-capped boots rather than at her. He looked extremely nervous, maybe a little flustered, almost _embarrassed_. Why the almighty leader of the Brotherhood of Steel was embarrassed, Serena could not quite fathom.

 

“You and me both, Sir.”

 

“I’m sure that you are aware, Knight, of my high standing within the Brotherhood of Steel…”

 

“Not at all, Elder.”

 

Maxson frowned at her reply. He clearly wasn’t sure if Serena was being sarcastic. From his place by the doorway, Danse coughed pointedly. Serena ignored him.

 

“The name ‘Maxson’ commands great respect and responsibility within the Brotherhood of Steel, Knight,” Maxson dared to continue. “I am the only descendant from a great line of notable leaders, and as such with my name and rank come… obligations.”

 

Serena just blinked at the Elder with her steadfast blue eyes, seemingly unfazed by his words.

 

“I don’t know if you have familiarized yourself with the names of other Brotherhood leaders who reside back at the Citadel on the East Coast, or have educated yourself in Brotherhood traditions…”

 

“If I might interrupt for a moment, Elder,” Danse piped forward. “Our newest recruit has not had the chance to educate herself at present with Brotherhood history or practices. It would perhaps be best to get straight to the point…”

 

Serena gazed at the Elder expectantly, her anxiety since dissipated at the sight of the increasingly flustered Elder before her. Had she not felt a twig of sympathy for the poor man, she might have found the current situation and his obvious discomfort rather comical.

 

“In short, Knight Howard, having come of age two years ago, I am being forced by my Brotherhood peers into an arranged marriage, and I would ask that you pretend to be my suitor of choice.”

 

There was a pause. Around them, the Prydwen shuddered. The terminal on Maxson's desk pinged.

 

“Say what?” Serena asked, looking from Maxson, to Danse, and back to Maxson again. She was not sure that she had heard the man right.

 

“This might explain it better for you,” the Elder sighed, his scowl lines relaxing as he deposited himself into the chair at the table before her. Maxson suddenly looked weary and tired. He scooped up a manilla folder, previously unnoticed by Serena, off of the table and held it out to her. Serena took it, quickly flicking through. Her blue eyes widened, and she softly exclaimed “ _Oh!_ ”.

 

“You might be starting to grasp my predicament, Knight.”

 

“With great power comes shit responsibilities, hey Sir?” Serena joked weakly, placing the folder back onto the table. “So let me just get this straight- your peers want you to court five Brotherhood women at the same time? Date them? Pit them against each other in a fight for the prized bachelor? And the said bachelor simultaneously dumps each potential suitor in an extravagant _Steel Ceremony_ until he selects the woman of his dreams to wed?”

 

“I wouldn’t put it like that, no,” Maxson drawled, frowning again at her choice of words. “But you can imagine where this leaves me, Knight Howard. I have no inclination at present to marry. Yet according to Brotherhood traditions, a match must be found for me to wed and carry on my line. If not found by myself, a suitor must be found under rather… _unconventional_ circumstances.”

 

“Man, romance and courtship has changed _so_ much since my time.” Serena muttered. “Whoever came up with this bullshit needs to get their noses into some _Mills and Boon_ …”

 

“What do you mean, Knight?” Maxson replied rather loudly. He almost barked. Despite his embarrassment at the entire situation, Maxson seemed slightly defensive at her tone.

 

“Nothing, nothing. What I want to know is, where on Earth do _I_ come into this, Sir?”

 

“I know those names mean nothing to you at present, Knight, but I can tell you that each of those women have been carefully selected for a reason,” Maxson growled. “I refuse to wed a woman who has only been selected for me in order to fulfil my peers’ goals of cementing their position in the Brotherhood higher than they currently reach. The ladies that you see listed there are interested in marrying me for my name and title only. My order has even gone so far as suggesting that your superiors aboard the Prydwen put forth a fifth potential suitor, knowing full well the strong relationship that I foster with each and every one of my sisters. Never would I ever _dream_ of fraternising with any soldiers under my command.”

 

“Any soldier except me.”

 

“Except you,” Maxson echoed. “You would be the obvious choice from the Prydwen's crew. You are relatively new to our order, mostly unknown besides your obvious desire to get into the Institute and find your son. You might have been bestowed with one of our ranks, but you are not truly one of the Brotherhood, as yet. I know very little about you, and have hardly obtained the rapport with you that I hold with each and every other soldier under my command. If I were to choose you at the end of the ordeal and then end our relationship upon the Elders return to the Citadel, there would be no… consequences, I suppose you could say.”

 

“You mean nobody aboard the Prydwen would care that you dumped me.”

 

Maxson scowled again at Serena’s lack of decorum. “To put it so bluntly, yes.”

 

Serena’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “So, in short, I would be doing you a tremendous favour then, yes? I'd be saving you from an arranged marriage? Allowing you to follow through with your responsibility to your name and title and whatever else you Brotherhood Elders have to do before sending me on my way and finding your one true love in your own time?”

 

“You would be,” Maxson agreed rather begrudgingly.

 

“Whose idea was this, anyway?” Serena asked, looking from the Elder to the surprisingly quiet Paladin standing by the doorway. Danse shifted somewhat uncomfortably under her stare.

 

“It was mine, Howard,” Danse admitted. “Purely because of your recent induction into the Brotherhood and because I believe you would be willing to help another person out.”

 

Serena sighed. Flashbacks of pre-war bars and law school suddenly filled her mind. The memories of herself fawning dramatically over the arm of her best friend when he attracted unwanted attention made her chuckle under her breath. How they had laughed about it together afterwards! Two hundred years into the future, it seemed that men still needed a convincing decoy when it came to staving off unwelcomed relationships. The empathetic side of Serena prodded at her conscience. She found herself feeling almost sorry for the situation that Maxson had found himself in.

 

 Maxson continued to watch Serena with a steely gaze while Danse’s gaze darted everywhere and anywhere in the quarters, except on the Elder and his charge.

 

“So basically, you want me to pretend that I am a willing suitor, and interested in becoming your wife? What else do you want me to do, sabotage group dates? Put funny ideas into these ladies’ heads about how terrible it would actually be to be the next leading lady of the Brotherhood? Tell them you leave the cap off of the toothpaste?”

 

“Leave the cap off the…? Well, I suppose so, yes.”

 

Silence fell in the Elder’s cabin again.

 

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

 

From his place in the doorway, Danse sighed loudly. The Elder’s face softened with relief, his scarred face broke out into the first smile that Serena had witnessed in the few weeks she had been aboard the Prydwen. She could not help but muse to herself that Maxson certainly was a handsome, albeit mostly unemotional, man.

* * *

 

**Because even in a post-apocolyptic wasteland, they still need to read _Mills and Boon_ , ammiright?**

 


	3. Chapter 3

**A bit of a repetitive chapter, but the “housekeeping” needs to be done!**

 

* * *

 

 

Maxson stood at the forefront of the command deck gallery, his posture stiff as he surveyed the Commonwealth horizon. Even the sereneness of a beautiful sunrise could not seem to evoke a visible emotion in the Elder. He squinted against the bright rays of light, his features drawn in that ever-present frown. The silhouette of his muscular frame, always donned in his armored battlecoat, was illuminated by the light of the rising sun, giving him an ethereal appearance.

 

Behind him, the leading team of the Prydwen’s crew sat around the long fold up tables- or, in Proctor Ingram’s case due to her bulky power armor, stretched out across one of the lounges- that had been erected in the centre of the room. It was unusual for the Elder to call a meeting of the Prydwen’s leadership team at such an early time, and it was evident by their body language that they were not quite used to it. Knight Captain Cade yawned loudly and widely, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to keep them open. Proctor Teagan sat slightly slumped forward in his chair, his cheek resting against his palm as he snored softly. Even Proctor Quinlan looked somewhat dishevelled in the early morning, his usually sleek and suave demeanour absent, his pompadour wig slightly askew. Senior Scribe Neriah sat perched on the last seat of the table, the smell of damp molerat distinct in the air. To the surprise of some, even recovering Paladin Brandis was present, the expression on his face showing he was clearly wanted to be anywhere but there. Only Lancer Captain Kells and Paladin Danse looked remotely refreshed and ready for the day.

 

Maxson cleared his throat loudly.

 

“We are gathered here today…” Maxson stopped abruptly as he realized his choice of words. His felt his face flush and as a result, the lines on his face deepened. He coughed somewhat awkwardly. “I have called you all here today to discuss a rather sensitive matter that has arisen. I am sure that you are all been made aware thanks to scuttlebutt of the current… situation I have found myself in,” he drawled, beginning to pace around his seated entourage.

 

The team nodded, their sleepy gazes focused on their Elder.

 

“Then I am sure that you are all aware that the task has fallen upon you all to select a suitor for me from the Prydwen’s crew… Maxson continued.

 

He was met with stares, previous sleepy eyes widening in surprise. Maxson sighed inwardly with relief. If scuttlebutt hadn’t informed them of that fact, then the likelihood of finer details of his predicament would, mostly likely, be largely unknown to the rest of the ship. The worry of gossiping and speculation abounding had kept Maxson restless in his bed the night before, dreading the rumours that would be fabricated.

 

With an air of superiority one might often hold when finding himself one of the few up-to-date with such important matters, Kells stood from his chair, passing around sheets of paper to all seated. “I have here the names of all suitors provided by our colleagues back at the Citadel,” his voice boomed, entirely too loud for the time of day. “As you can see, those chosen are all women of high-standing within the Brotherhood, notably the daughters or relations of Elders back on the East Coast.” He attempted to pass a sheet of paper to Maxson, who declined with a wave of his gloved hand as he stalked around the room. “You all will, of course, be familiar with these names, and probably have met and even worked rather closely with these ladies yourself…”

 

Reaching the windows once more, Maxson zoned out at the sound of Kells’ voice droning out the names of the potential suitors, and turned his back towards his peers to focus on the rising sun outside. His eyes closed as he was basked in a comforting warmth.

 

“Acting-Proctor Kelsey Jameson, Quinlan’s colleague and current of Order of the Scrolls, niece of Elder Elizabeth Jameson…”

 

“Ahhh yes. A fine, fine lady,” Quinlan nodded in approval, scrutinizing the paper in his hand.

 

“Mary Peabody, daughter of retired Elder Peabody. You will all remember him from his notable work as a previous Proctor of the Order of the Sword…”

 

“Who?” Teagan asked rather bluntly.  


“Regina Rothchild, daughter of Elder Reginald Rothchild…”

“Ha!” Proctor Ingram exclaimed, stabbing at the paper with a pointed finger. “Why am I not surprised that her name winded up in that list? I have never seen a man’s ego as big as that man’s. The fact that he named his daughter Regina after his own first name speaks volumes about the sort of person he is, doesn’t it?”

 

“Elder Henry Casdin’s daughter, Eleanor Casdin…”

“Why that man was even made an Elder in the first place I cannot fathom,” Brandis interrupted, a look of hatred on his face. “I think it’s safe to say that the Elder will do his best not to wed the daughter of an ex-Outcast despite their reconciliation, ammiright?”

 

“And another appropriate suitor of choice, as voted by the Prydwen’s leadership team,” Kells concluded. Silence fell.

 

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?” Proctor Teagan eventually asked, seeing as it appeared nobody else was going to say anything.

 

“Permission granted.”

 

“No disrespect to you meant at all Sir, but why on Earth are you going along with this ridiculous farce?”

 

“I’ve been asking myself that repeatedly for the past day,” Maxson mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

 

“It is a High Elder’s duty to wed and bring more children into the Brotherhood,” Quinlan frowned, answering for Maxson. “Particularly one of the Elder’s bloodline. He should have been married and fathering heirs when he came of age. Earliest traditions state that unmarried Elders of the Brotherhood must enter an arranged marriage once reaching a certain rank if they are previously uncommitted- and in the Elder’s case, at an earlier age due to his ancestry and high position. Being in such a position of importance, it is paramount that the Elder fathers an heir as soon as possible. Previous High Elders and Maxsons have not been given the privilege of choosing their marriage partner. Were it not for this tradition, it may be that the Maxson line might never have continued.”

 

Maxson cringed inwardly. The memory of his parents’ arranged and turbulent marriage before their untimely deaths was still fresh on his mind despite the years that had passed. The product of a loveless union between Jonathan and Jessica Maxson, Arthur had been determined growing up that he would not find himself in the same situation. And yet here he was.

 

“Why does it have to be someone from the Commonwealth Expedition? Can we vote on bringing out our own choice from the Citadel?” he heard Neriah ask hopefully.

 

There was a murmur of disapproval from around the table. “You really think there is anybody else appropriate from there that we could consider?” Brandis drawled. “Absolutely not. While we are all of the same chapter, those Elders back home have grown ambitious and their own selfish goals on their mind. I’d much rather she be one of our own. Notably, there are not really any within our crew of such… _high standing_ as the ones that the Citadel are sending, but at least we know that if the Elder courts one of our brethren away from the influence and claws of the circle, he’s not going to be taken for a political ride at the same time.” Heads nodded in agreement.

 

“We’ve all got to keep in mind the fact that Elder Maxson has always frowned upon fraternization amongst the crew,” Kells interrupted, speaking as though Maxson were not present in the room. “Not to mention that the Elder personally chose each and every one of us to accompany the Prydwen into the Commonwealth. We all have an established rapport with him. He will not find it… appealing, to say the least, to court one of his chosen sisters in arms.”

 

“That is most certainly correct,” Maxson drawled from the front of the gallery.

 

“Then I cannot think of anybody aboard who would even be remotely appropriate,” Neriah replied, looking grim.

 

“I suppose that the Citadel would not be averse to forgoing the fifth suitor, if we cannot put forward a name,” Kells suggested, looking around at his colleagues. Everyone around the table seemed to nod, appearing thoughtful. Maxson took this moment to look pointedly at Paladin Danse, who as yet had remained quiet throughout the entire proceedings. Danse, taking the hint, opened his mouth to talk before-

 

“What about Knight Howard, Sir?” another voice piped up, and certainly not the deep or throaty voice of the Paladin that Maxson had expected. All eyes turned to Proctor Ingram where she lay stretched out across the lounges. She looked a little surprised at her own suggestion, and hastily sat upright to face the rest of the group. “Hear me out, hear me out,” she quickly added, raising a hand as Proctor Quinlan’s mouth opened, his face a mix of both shock and disapproval.

 

“A number of reasons why she might be the ideal candidate. Firstly, she was not of the original Prydwen crew. She was initiated and sponsored by our trusty Paladin over there, and not personally by the Elder. Relationship-wise, they don’t really have a rapport, as yet.”

 

Silence. Looking around, the Proctor took the lack of protest as a positive sign, and continued.

 

“Secondly, she has displayed a natural aptitude for leadership. She might be an asset to the Brotherhood's leadership if they were to match. I am sure that some of you have heard of her work with rebuilding the local militia?”

 

There was a mumble in reply. Maxson folded his arms and began to stroke his beard between his pointer finger and thumb, attempting to look as though he were listening intently to Ingram’s suggestion.

 

“Thirdly, she has had no previous ties to the Brotherhood. She has no one who can use her for political agenda-“

 

“That we know of,” Kells interrupted. The Lancer Captain looked rather sour at the suggestion of the Knight. The memory of a complaint that had been delivered to Maxson’s terminal the day after Howard’s arrival on the Prydwen, titled _Cute Boat_ and signed by Kells, hinted a slight smile on the Elder’s lips.

 

“That we know of,” Ingram continued. “Fourth, you’ve all met the woman, yes? She’s a rarity. She’s not going to take any of the East Coast Elder’s drama or- excuse my blunt language, Sirs- bullshit.”

 

Teagan nodded in agreement. “That is absolutely true. She can certainly command a presence. She came close to crucifying me earlier on in the week. I reckon they could hear her from the airport.”

 

“And for good reason, too!” Neriah replied, glaring at Teagan. “It doesn’t attest to your intelligence, Proctor, asking the Knight to obtain supplies from her own local settlements by any means necessary!”

 

Maxson’s features immediately went livid, shooting Teagan a dark look at this unexpected admittance. Teagan paled slightly. _We will discuss that later, Proctor Teagan._

 

“I vote that we consider Knight Howard then, Elder Maxson, Sir,” Ingram finished.  


“What are your thoughts on considering your charge for the fifth option, Danse?” Maxson asked, turning to the still-silent Paladin in an attempt to include him into the conversation.

 

“I think she would be an ideal candidate, Sir,” Danse admitted in a convincingly reluctant voice. “Whilst she is still considered relatively new to our ranks, you certainly cannot deny that her ties to the Commonwealth Minutemen would not be of benefit the Brotherhood if she were to become the next Lady. It would be an ideal way to cement our position of power in the Commonwealth once the Institute has been defeated and the Prydwen moves on. I have worked with her closely so far during my sponsorship and under her command, the Minutemen are establishing a proper presence and return to power within the area. If I were not impressed, I would be a little unsettled at the surprising success of a local militia consisting of farmers and settlers with no combat experience. Just recently she and her men even managed to take back Fort Independence before the Brotherhood could scout the fortress as planned.”

 

The air in the command deck gallery seemed to change at Danse’s words. Everyone seated could not help but look slightly impressed.

 

“I do not like the thought of our High Elder marrying a wastelander,” Quinlan grumbled in response, clearly gunning for Acting-Proctor Jameson.

 

“She’s not a typical wasteland though, is she?” Cade replied. “She’s actually a pre-war vault dweller. Lived before the war. Biologically only six years older than the Elder, healthy, fit and incredibly intelligent. We know from her past history, too, that she’s fertile. Her genetics are as pure as they come nowadays. I vote to put Howard forward also.”

 

Quinlan’s expression remained disgruntled, although he shrugged his shoulders in acknowledgement.

 

“What are your thoughts about Knight Howard, Elder?” Brandis asked Maxson pointedly.

 

Maxson tried to keep his face straight and devoid of emotion, which wasn’t hard. To his surprise however, he felt his heart flutter unexpectedly in his chest. “I will admit… I do not know the Knight well enough to be able to answer that very well, Paladin Brandis,” he replied slowly, appearing to sound as disinterested as possible. “I must defer entirely to the judgment of my peers.”

 

“And there you have it,” Brandis smiled. “Howard has my vote too, then. It shouldn’t be awkward at all to court a woman you barely know. I’ve certainly taken a liking to the young woman. Wouldn’t be averse to watching her whip some of our greener recruits into shape. A pre-war vault dweller! Who would have thought they made them so sassy in those days?”

 

Kells surveyed the room. “Are we in agreement then?” he asked. “No one else has any other potential suitor to suggest? Those who vote for Knight Howard to be put forward, raise your hand.”

 

All hands were raised around the room. Even Quinlan raised a reluctant paw, his glasses lopsided in conjunction with his pompadour under his frown. Proctor Ingram looked rather chuffed.

 

“Then it is settled,” Kells concluded. “Knight Serena Howard of the Commonwealth expedition will join the list of potential suitors for the Elder to court.”

 

Maxson almost sighed aloud in relief at the decision. Outwardly, his face remained unreadable. “Very well,” he nodded. “Captain Kells, please attend to the necessary arrangements and organize for the entourage to be dispatched from the Citadel. I expect them to arrive at the Prydwen before the week is out.” He straightened before raising a clenched fist to his chest. “Ad Victorium.”

 

“Ad Victoriam, Elder,” their voices echoed. Loud screeching resonated around the command deck as everybody pushed themselves to their feet, collecting their papers and gathering the folding chairs.

 

"I just love how the Knight has no say in this decision," Neriah muttered rather sarcastically to Ingram as they walked out, the smell of damp molerat following her. Ingram appeared to shrug.

 

Danse stayed back, an entire folded table tucked under his biceps, declining to file out of the gallery with the others. When it was just he and Elder Maxson remaining, the tension in Danse’s form visibly relaxed. “Convincing them was… a lot easier than I expected, Sir,” Danse admitted, sounding relieved.

 

Maxson sighed. “Let’s just hope that Knight Howard and I can convince the others of our sincerity when it comes down to it so easily too, Paladin. I… appreciate, what Howard has agreed to do for me. Please convey that to her in case she is unaware.”

 

As the Danse trudged out of the room, Maxson finally made to follow. The sun had completely risen on the Commonwealth horizon now, the command deck gallery illuminated with the bright summer’s light. As Maxson crossed the threshold, he heard the deep, fast panting of a creature. Turning in surprise, Maxson saw Knight Howard’s German Shepard crouched in the corner of the primary stairwell. The dog appeared to have been waiting for him.

 

Maxson halted in his tracks.

 

Surveying the human and down, the beast's gaze returned to the Maxson's before staring at him for what felt like an eternity. Maxson fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. The dog's usual bright and sparkling brown eyes were masked as Dogmeat glared meaningfully, the lips of his snout curling upwards to show the slightest hint of his canine teeth. Dogmeat then huffed loudly, breaking the tension, before picking himself up and padding away to the flight deck’s doorway, his tail missing its usual merry wave as he pawed at the door handle. The heavy steel door swung open in the morning’s breeze and Dogmeat disappeared out onto the flight deck without so much as a backward glance.

 

Maxson remained rooted to the spot where he had stopped, stunned. The non-verbal exchange between the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel and the loyal dog had been pretty clear. Maxson had just been intimidated and threatened by a Commonwealth mutt not to mess with his mistress.


	4. Chapter 4

**It’s been a month since I last updated, apologies! Life got in the way… sigh.**

**I’m not completely satisfied with this chapter, but heck I want to get started on the fun in the next chapter already so here it is!**

 

* * *

 

 

Knight Serena Howard was careful to remain expressionless when her name was announced at the Brotherhood assembly congregated in the ruins of the Boston Airport. Her posture solid, she determinedly stared straight ahead of her despite the chorus of whispers that suddenly erupted around her. How she wished she were a spectator, looking on at the scene!

 

Serena had no issue with being the centre of attention in an audience. A fierce and charismatic lawyer before the bombs fell, she had taken command of any court room she had entered and fought tooth and nail to get her clients the justice that they deserved in a heavily corrupted system. It had earned her positive reputation before the bombs fell despite her relatively young age and infancy in the profession, putting her often into the spotlight of the media. Safe to say though, this scenario was completely different. She felt the stares of her Brotherhood peers rather too keenly for her liking. Serena could have sworn that her fellow knights, initiates and scribes that were crowded around her had deliberately taken a step away from her as if she were suddenly made of molten steel. Ever present at her feet, Dogmeat almost seemed to huff in annoyance as their surrounding soldiers shuffled away.

 

From his place behind the podium, Maxson’s posture and face remained mostly unchanged at Kells’ announcement to the assembly, save for his trademark scowl. One could say he seemed bored, disinterested almost, by the proceedings- a very convincing façade, Serena mused, given the Elder’s obvious anxiety and agitation during their meeting a few evenings beforehand. He certainly had no trouble putting on an image when he needed too. His expression betrayed nothing when his wandering gaze locked with Serena’s from where she stood momentarily across the yard. She averted his eyes and focused her attention back on the podium.

 

Serena could see Kells’ lips moving as he continued to address the congregation, although she could barely register what he was saying over the roaring whispers that continue to muffle the air around her. She caught snippets of what was being whispered here and there.

 

“Her? Why her?”

 

“But she’s only been Brotherhood for a few months!”

 

The last comment, “Lucky bitch!” almost made her roll her eyes.

 

“Why not one of us?” a scribe to her right grumbled to her colleague. “Why did she get chosen of all people?”

 

Serena turned and smiled brightly at the scribe, shrugging her shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine, Scribe Leeson!”

 

* * *

 

 

It was Serena’s turn to scowl as she sat perched on the edge of a gurney in the infirmary, somewhat disgruntled at the position that she currently found herself in. Had she been told that part of her agreement would include a thorough physical exam performed at the East Coast Elders insistence, that was not only vastly different in nature to that conducted on her induction into the Brotherhood but also included an audience of not only Knight Captain Kells but the great Elder himself, she might have told the said Elder and Paladin Danse where to shove their request.

 

The other object of the ship’s scuttlebutt himself stood to the side of the room with Kells, looking neither awkward nor unfazed at the sight of one of his suitors seated on the gurney before him. To the credit of he and his colleagues, the sight of her in an orange flightsuit unzipped below her waist, clad only in a Brotherhood-issue crop top and panties with the porcelain skin of her chest and abdomen exposed for all to see yielded neither awkwardness or embarrassment on their part. No doubt they had all seen a number of their sisters in arms on that very same gurney in all stages of undress for whatever reasons.

 

Kells had, to her surprise, been insistent that Maxson should attend her exam under chaperone, presumably to ensure without a doubt of the Elder’s approval in their choice of potential wife. What better way to ensure that she ticked all of the prerequisites? Despite her naturally confident nature, Serena could not help but be conscious of her state of undress. It had been a long time since she had stripped before a man, let alone a whole room full, and that one man had only ever been Nate. She tried to appear relaxed under Maxson’s formidable scrutiny and silently prayed that her still-lactating bosoms would not leak in her discomfort.

 

The pre-war lawyer had always heard her fellow students throughout law school describe the feeling of standing in front of a courtroom to that of being naked on stage in an auditorium full of people. Serena had never been able to empathize with that feeling… until now.

 

She consciously tried her best not to swing her legs as Knight Captain Cade bustled around her, asking an incessant string of questions as he poked and prodded her with a variety of unrecognizable instruments. She almost rolled her eyes at the nature of the questions being asked as he worked, unsurprised that the majority were fixated on her monthly cycles and details of her previous pregnancy and labour. Ever mischievous despite her embarrassment, Serena kept a straight face at the looks of shock and discomfort on the men’s faces around her as she deliberately detailed a full account of Shaun’s rather traumatic natural birth. Even Cade’s face visibly paled as she described the finer details, including seventy-two stitches and a blood transfusion. If Serena was going to play the part of a suitor for Maxson properly, she meant to have a little fun at everyone’s expense.

 

There was a silence as Cade scribbled away at his clipboard, no doubt recording every point about Shaun’s birth that Serena had graphically detailed.

 

“Very well, Knight Howard. I think you have given us more than enough in the details department. Final question. Are you sexually active?” Cade asked, his pencil held aloft.

 

“Oh no, not really,” Serena shrugged her shoulders, her face grim. “I usually just lie there.”

 

Cade dropped his pencil, his mouth agape. The rather loud sound of the doctor’s lead pencil hitting the floor was met with a small sound emitted from the direction of the Elder at his place in the corner of the infirmary, barely audible against the constant groaning of the Prydwen. The colour that had returned to Maxson’s face after his barely concealed shock at the finer details of Serena’s birth story almost seemed to deepen behind the gloved hand he had raised to cover his lips. What others might have described to be an amused look crossed his scarred features, but Serena just assumed that he had choked a little on his own saliva. After all, the almighty Arthur Maxson didn’t snigger. He was a man void of any humor.

 

To Maxson’s left, Kells’ frowned darkly in disapproval.

 

“A joke, Captain Cade,” Serena added, her eyes twinkling despite her straight face. “I might remind you that I am recently widowed.”

 

Cade shook his head with a sigh, scribbling away at his clipboard before tucking his pencil behind his ear. “Perfectly healthy and fit for childbearing,” he remarked to Kells and Maxson over his shoulder, failing to notice the annoyed look that fell across Serena’s face at his choice of words. “I am sure that the East Coast Elders will have no qualms with her physical condition. I can’t say they’ll be super impressed with her sense of humour, though.”

 

Kells took the clipboard from Cade’s hands and turned to walk out of the infirmary. “We’re not doing this so that Elder Maxson can find someone with a sense of humour to marry, Captain,” Kells replied, his voice resonating as he set off to the stairwell in the direction of the flight deck.

 

Serena sighed outwardly in relief at Kells’ retreating back, shrugging her jumpsuit back on and hastily zipped up the tight fabric as Cade bustled behind his counter, sanitising an assortment of used instruments. Maxson continued to watch her with his icy blue stare as her exposed body disappeared from view. Unbeknownst to her as she lowered her head to fasten the buckle on her belt, the Elder had crossed the room in two large strides, bending his head forward so that his mouth was next to her face. Serena was met with the smell of cigarettes and worn leather as she felt the unexpected bristles of his beard tickle against her ear lobe. She jumped in surprise, her eyes widening as she felt his warmth breath against her neck. Her skin prickled as goosebumps formed along her skin.

 

“A word on the forecastle, Knight Howard, if you would,” Maxson whispered roughly, turning to lock eyes with her before he promptly straightened and sauntered out of the room without a backward glance. Eyebrows raised, Serena cast a quick glimpse at Cade who was fortunately busy at his terminal, his back turned to her. He had obviously not witnessed Maxson’s whispered exchange. Without even bothering to wait to be dismissed from the infirmary, Serena slipped off of the gurney and slowly headed through the belly of the ship in the direction of the forecastle. Maxson, fast man that he was, was nowhere to be seen as she hiked.

 

Serena had not ventured to the forecastle of the Prydwen since she had first stepped aboard the Brotherhood vessel. Save for the sharpshooter’s stowage that was positioned at the apex of the decking that soldiers sometimes went to snipe feral ghouls in the airport ruins every now and then, it was a place that the ship’s occupants generally did not generally go in their day to day duties. The memory of Danse’s obvious disapproval when Serena had first ventured into the forecastle was fresh on her mind. She had thrust her arms open and teetered dangerously as she balanced on the steel railing, bellowing “ _I’m the queen of the worldddddd!_ ” before her sponsor had all but dragged her off of the metal decking, worried his new charge would pitch forwards into the ocean. She later found herself feeling rather ashamed when she had heard that the Prydwen’s forecastle was often used to hold memorial services for fallen Brotherhood brothers and sisters, with Maxson and his colleagues farewelling the deceased from reconnaissance team Gladius that very evening.

 

Reaching the forefront of the ship, Serena could hear the afternoon summer wind howling outside the Prydwen’s hull despite the thick steel door that blocked the entrance to the deck from the elements. Grunting a little as she pushed the heavy door open, she was presented with the sight of the Elder’s leather-clad back at the apex, his sleek hair ruffled in the breeze as he surveyed the view before him. Maxson barely turned at the sound of the forecastle door screeching, waving Serena forward to join him.

 

“Knight Howard. Come. We won’t be heard or disturbed here.”

 

Serena warily stepped forward, immediately gripping the steel railing at her side as the wind caught her loose hair from around her shoulders, the long dark strands whipping sharply around her face. Careful not to knock the heavy laser sniper rifle propped beside a full case of ammunition beside the Elder, she stood as close to Maxson as she dared, puffing a little as she tried to empty her mouth of the hair that kept catching between her lips.

 

“I thought it might be prudent to take advantage of the last opportunity I will have to speak with you without the presence of a chaperone, Knight,” Maxson drawled. “The Citadel entourage are due to land at Boston Airport within the next twenty-four hours and we will not have another opportunity to talk privately once they arrive and the courtship proceedings begin.”

 

“You must be looking forward to their arrival, Sir.”

 

Maxson raised an eyebrow, unsure if she was being sarcastic. “I would like to discuss… establishing certain boundaries between us, if we are to successfully pull of this charade,” he continued, ignoring her reply.

 

Silently thankful for the bulk of his frame shielding her from the warm wind, Serena blinked. “What do you mean, Sir?”

 

“I am relatively new to the idea of dating, but I suspect that some display of affection is expected between a romancing couple, Knight.”

 

“I… Oh. I hadn’t even thought of that when I agreed, Sir,” Serena admitted, her face falling.

 

“I assumed so, given you didn’t ask about it,” Maxson replied. “Thus my question for you is, Knight, what degree of physical contact would you be comfortable with?”

 

Serena thought for a moment, her mouth pursed. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger, her thumb brushing lovingly against the diamonds embedded into the yellow gold. “I would… prefer it if we didn’t have to kiss,” Serena admitted. “If you think that we can fool them without such public displays of affection, obviously.”

 

Maxson nodded. “Public displays have never been my thing, believe it or not.”

 

Serena feigned an expression of shock. The left corner of Maxson’s lips seemed to curl slightly.

 

“I have no problem with holding hands though, if needed.” Heaven knew Serena already did plenty of hand holding with strangers. Quite often she had held hands with settlers when she answered distress calls through Radio Freedom, providing reassurance and comfort that the Minutemen would aid them. She had even hugged a super mutant after reading him a bedtime story of Macbeth. Holding hands with the High Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel really made no difference to her.

 

“If I might ask a question, Sir? Is this charade going to interfere at all with any of my other responsibilities?”

 

“What do you mean, Knight?”

 

“I have duties with my Minutemen, Sir, and I wish to continue working with Ingram on my power armor mods so that I can continue the mission to venture into the Glowing Sea as soon as possible. If one of my settlements gets attacked, I will certainly not be sticking around for these dates. I’ll be going to aid them. I guess my question is, will you and your Elders allow me to leave when needed, or will I have to sneak out against your will and be court martialled when I return?”

 

Maxson looked thoughtful, having clearly not considered Serena’s responsibilities as General of the Minutemen. “I suppose in those circumstances, the Brotherhood could extend fire support and the use of vertibirds for your expedited travel, Knight. I know in the past you have certainly never needed to enlist the help of the Brotherhood whenever one of your settlements has been attacked, although the offer has always been there. I am certainly not going to restrict you from your duties as a leader. I can respect that your loyalty to your Minutemen, besides the Brotherhood, should always be first and foremost.”

 

There was a brief pause, Serena satisfied with his reply. Maxson turning back to face the view from the forecastle deck while Serena pulled at her hair that began to fly around her face again. Always one to avoid awkward silences, she dared ask a question she had been wondering since agreeing to the farce.

 

“If I might ask, Elder, what’s going to happen on the off chance that you actually fall for one of the other ladies that are coming tomorrow?”

 

Maxson turned back to her, frowning. “I can assure you that I will not.”

 

“But if you do, sir?” Serena pressed on.

 

“I will not. I have no inclination to marry any one of them.”

 

“You’re so sure of that?”

 

Maxson huffed as he leaned heavily on the steel railing before him. His battlecoat almost seemed to grown as the worn leather stretched thickly across the broad expanse of his shoulders. “Look Knight, I grew up knowing these women from a distance. What I know of them and what I saw first-hand were not qualities I want in my wife. And I certainly do not want their relatives to hold any more power within the Brotherhood leadership than they do already. I have told you this much already. If I do one day marry, I want to marry a woman I can truly come to love and respect, who can confidently lead the Brotherhood at my side as an equal. I don’t want a puppet for a wife. Were it not for your agreement to our charade, you would have been my obvious choice to wed out of all of the suitors.”

 

A rather suspense silence followed. To Serena’s surprise, she felt herself flush at his words, her heartbeat quickening as her mouth dropped open slightly. Maxson’s blue eyes seemed to widen as he realized what he had said, his gaze flickering to fixate upon her open mouth. Steel blue eyes lingered there for a brief moment before Serena jerked her mouth closed, her tongue darting outwards to leave a glossy sheen across her lips. Maxson’s stare continued for another moment before he looked away, breaking the silence by coughing and pushing himself away from the railing to put some distance between them.

 

“I meant… I only mean… that came out the wrong way,” he almost stammered, clearing his throat loudly in an effect to regain composure.

 

Somewhat grateful for the warm summer wind now and the distraction it brought as it continued to ruffle her long hair in every direction, Serena took a deep breath, rather annoyed at herself for flushing.

 

“May I ask, Knight, why you agreed to do this for me? You didn’t even seem to hesitate when Paladin Danse and I asked you.” Given the tone of his voice when he asked, it was obvious that it was a question that had been lingering on the Elder's mind for some time.

 

“I don’t think anyone should be forced to marry someone they don’t love, Sir,” Serena replied, shrugging. “Even if his name _is_ Maxson and he is considered a god among his men.”

 

The Elder nodded. He appeared pleased with her answer despite her little jab.

 

“Very well then. Thank you, Knight Howard. I suppose you are aware that from this point forward we will not see each other again without the presence of a chaperone until this entire debacle ends. The welcoming party will be tomorrow evening after I meet all of the suitors. I look forward to seeing you then.”

 

She had obviously been dismissed. Serena lingered for a brief moment in case the Elder needed to say anything else, but he just continued to scowl as he squinted towards the Commonwealth sun. She turned on her heel and strode back up the gangway before she heard the sound of Maxson’s heavy footsteps behind her as he followed. As she made to reach for the steel handle of the forecastle door, the coolness of her hand touching the metal was immediately counteracted with the warmth of Maxson’s gloved hand as he leaned around her to open the door at the same time. She pulled away her hand hastily as he turned the handle and swung open the door, stepping around her to hold the door for her. She paused, rather taken aback as his gentleman-like gesture.  

 

“I wanted to thank you, sincerely, for doing this for me, Serena.”

 

Maxson had never called her Serena before. It had always been either “Knight” or “Knight Howard” when he spoke to her. Her name sounded almost lyrical and soft when he spoke it, despite the sharp tones of his voice. He almost sounded like Nate when he said her name.

 

She felt her chest tighten at the thought.

 

“I think we can both agree with you owe me a big favour or two, Elder Maxson,” Serena managed to wink as she stepped pat him and into the warm air of the Prydwen’s corridor. Were it not for the wind gushing outside, she almost could have mistaken the noise that escaped from the man behind her for a chuckle.

 

“That I do, Knight. And I suspect you are never going to let me forget that either.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Many thanks for the positive comments and kudos guys! Author fuel, rawr!**

 

* * *

 

 

The Prydwen practically roared with activity the following day, her occupants hastily preparing for a momentous Brotherhood event. Their High Elder was going to be forced into a marriage against his will and they meant to make sure that the following weeks went down in Brotherhood history. It was in stark contrast to the bustle of her occupants’ usual duties, dispatching Commonwealth patrols and preparing for war against the Institute. Her steel hull gleamed in the sun as squires and scribes alike cleaned frantically in order to bring the warship interior and exterior to showroom standards. Maxson did not want his peers to think that he had neglected to take care of his prized warship since they had left the Capital.

 

The said Elder stood before the sink in his cabin’s tiny ensuite, a fresh razor clutched in his large hand. Turning his head from side to side, he surveyed the reflection staring back at him with a pang of regret. How much older than his twenty years he looked. The responsibilities and stress of leading the Brotherhood were starting to take its toll on him and it certainly showed on his features. Had he not known the age of the man reflected before him, Maxson would have guessed that the man was in his early to mid-forties, without a doubt. His long beard covered what few deep lines on his face could be hidden from view, the brown strands growing across his chin and cheeks thick and lush. He had not trimmed his beard since it had finally started to grow properly but he felt obligated that he should now, given the formality of his current circumstances.

 

He bared his teeth at his reflection in annoyance, the long scar on his right cheek pulling his skin taunt and leaving his mouth looking slightly lopsided. He looked gruff, domineering, almost scary if truth be told. He hardly looked the part of a man about to enter into a courtship. Surely no woman would consider a man with such a fierce demeanour to be attractive?

 

Maxson discarded the unused razor into the sink before him. Nope. He was going to keep the beard.

 

To say the young Elder was nervous was an understatement. Despite enlisting the help of Serena Howard to prevent himself from formally committing to any of the women selected for him by his peers, Maxson wondered whether they really would be able to pull off a pretence that was believable enough to convince _anyone_ , let alone everyone.

 

The formalwear that a pair of squires had delivered to his cabin lay draped across a chair, freshly pressed and ironed. He shrugged the starchy fabric on, his skin protesting in irritation as his body hair rubbed against the cloth. The small assortment of medallions that were pinned to the breast of his shirt tinkled, almost in mockery of the situation he found himself in. Maxson scowled, removing the medallions from his shirt and flinging them unceremoniously onto his desk. They were only for show anyway.

 

There was a sharp knock on his cabin door. Without waiting for permission to enter, Maxson’s door swung open and he was met with the sight of Kells standing in the doorway, looking as crisp and fresh as Maxson did in formal attire and his captain’s hat.

 

“It is time to fly down to the airport, Elder Maxson,” Kells announced. “The Citadel vertibird will be docking with the Prydwen shortly before landing at the airport. We do not want to be late.”

 

Ignoring the formal military dress jacket that he had been provided to wear, Maxson grabbed his battlecoat and slipped it on, heading out the door behind his Lancer-Captain.

 

* * *

 

 

The Brotherhood Bachelor stood at the end of a threadbare red carpet that had been rolled out across the landing pad in the airport, perspiration oozing out of his pores due to a mixture of both the hot Commonwealth air and ill-supressed anxiety. The gust that the landing vertibird had created did little to evaporate the sweat Maxson could feel beading across his skin. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand.

 

He turned as he felt the Captain join him by his side, politely trying to look as though he was concentrating although he could not hear what Kells was saying over the roar of noise in his ears. His attention wavered further as his skin prickled with sweat. The urge to rip off his battlecoat and formalwear and hightail out of the airport grounds, never to be seen again, was overwhelming.

 

When Kells finally paused for breath, the sound of a loud thump bringing Maxson’s wavering attention back to the vertibird waiting before them. The young Elder’s heart stopped abruptly in his chest as the recognisable figure of Proctor Ingram disembarked from the vertibird. To his right, Kells looked shocked.

 

Maxson gulped, what little colour he had in his face draining away as she approached them. “Proctor Ingram?” he gasped in disbelief. “You- why are you…?”

 

Ingram sauntered passed the young Elder with a wave of her hand. “You can get that look of fear off of your face, Sir,” she smirked. “Just hitching a ride down to the airport from the Prydwen.”

 

Maxson’s shoulders sagged as he visibly relaxed, his heart pounding. “Thank God,” he muttered under his breath. Kells squeaked in agreement.

 

“I wouldn’t want to be you right now, Sir,” Ingram called over her shoulder, the metallic footsteps of her armor frame receding behind him as she stalked across the vertibird pad towards the innards of the airport. Maxson scowled.

 

There was a flurry of activity at the vertibird’s open door as a power-armored Knight had to step forward and assist one of the occupants to disembark, a large and voluptuous- no one in the Brotherhood would ever use the word “obese”- man clad in royal blue Elder robes. His fellow companion was much leaner and fit in comparison, who jumped down spritely from the steps despite the restrictions of his thick robes.

 

Peabody and Casdin. Maxson groaned with annoyance. Of all the Elders sent to be the chaperones! He felt his anxiety triple at the sight of them.

 

To say he was not a fan of Elder Peabody and Casdin was an understatement. The former, once a fit and active Scribe in charge of the Brotherhood’s weapons and armory back in the reign of Lyons, had become lax and leisurely in his Elder days once he had been promoted. The ex-Proctor of the Order of the Sword had only been elected as an Elder to fill a void that had opened when a number of incompetent Elders had moved further up the leadership ranks before falling through. Large and often uncouth in his mannerisms after suffering a minor stroke some years prior, Peabody was now thankfully retired from his formal duties, his personality now vastly different to that when he was a Scribe. The latter, Elder Casdin, had been elected at the West Coast Elders insistence once Maxson had negotiated and bargained the Brotherhood outcasts back into the Eastern fold. Casdin was a formidable man that intimidated even Maxson despite getting on in years, described by the late Elder Lyons to have been one of the best soldiers that the Brotherhood had ever seen. He seemed to tolerate Maxson purely because of his goals to return to the Brotherhood’s original ideals of collecting and guarding technology, ever wary that the young Elder had been raised by Lyons and his charitable ways.

 

“Arthur, boy!” Peabody positively bellowed as they approached, respect and mannerisms be damned as he clasped Maxson’s outstretched hand between his sweaty palms and pumped the young Elder’s hand up and down. “I never thought we’d see the day that you would settle down and get married, young man!”

 

“I’m sure you all thought that day was never going to happen, given that I am being pressed into doing this,” Maxson replied sarcastically. Peabody just guffawed in response, moving on to wring Kells’ hand.

 

Casdin took Maxson’s outstretched palm and shook it gently but firmly, far more respectful in manner than his retired colleague. “Elder Maxson,” Casdin purred. “Such a pleasure it is to see you again after all of these months. I trust that your expedition into the Commonwealth has been successful so far? I look forward to being briefed about the war against the Institute tomorrow once the formalities are over.”

 

Maxson nodded warily. “I have a full debriefing prepared for you tomorrow morning to relay back to the East Coast, Elder Casdin.”

 

Casdin nodded, looking pleased as he surveyed the airport ruins around them. “A suitable location to make a temporary base. I approve. Certainly not a defensible fortress like the Citadel, but we cannot expect to find such intact structures all over the country to occupy now, can we?”

 

Maxson felt a pang of annoyance. “The Boston Airport is defensible enough,” he retorted. “We would not have made our base here if it were not.” Casdin frowned.

 

There was a silence as the Elders and Kells looked at each other. “Shall… we begin the introductions then?” Kells asked tentatively.

 

“Please,” Maxson nodded, stepping aside to invite Peabody and Casdin to wait behind him.

 

While Peabody’s meaty frame moved out of the way, Casdin remained rooted to the spot. “May I present your first suitor, Elder Maxson. Elder Peabody’s only daughter, Scribe Mary Peabody.” Casdin all but pushed Kells out of the way and beckoned at the vertibird. The figure of a small woman disembarked the aircraft with the assistance of the armored Knight, balancing rather precariously on a pair of pre-war heels under her thin green dress. She tottered over to Maxson and Casdin before promptly lowering herself to the floor at Maxson’s feet. Believing at first that she had lost her balance, Maxson reached forward to assist the lady to stand up, only realising too late that Mary had prostrated herself at his feet.

 

Exasperated, Maxson waited for Mary to stand back up, his foot tapping in annoyance. After several long and excruciating moments, the lady finally got to her feet, looking at Maxson with a look of reverence on her face that was barely hidden under the thick layer of makeup she had caked on. “Elder Maxson, Sir,” she squeaked. “Such an honour it is to be presented before you today for courting. I hope that you are not disappointed?”

 

Plain face, short brown hair, pale skin, slightly cross-eyed as she blinked up at him beneath lashes that were so thick with mascara they resembled radroach legs. Maxson certainly was disappointed and it took him a conscious effort not to show it. Praise whatever god there may be that he had made an agreement with Howard, if this woman was the sort that he could expect to have to choose a wife from. He forced himself to remain expressionless as he took her free hand within his own and planted a quick kiss to the skin of her knuckles. “It is an honour to meet you, Scribe Peabody,” he replied, his voice flat and he tried to mask his disdain. “I welcome you to the Commonwealth.” He rolled his eyes as Mary lowered herself once more on the ground at his feet. She was ridiculous.

 

Casdin looked amused as Mary eventually picked herself back up and tottered over to join her father and Captain Kells.  “Next, may I present Acting-Proctor Kelsey Jameson. I believe you have met this suitor already, Elder Maxson.”

 

A woman adorned with large spectacles that vaguely reminded Maxson of a mutated bloatfly had clambered off of the vertibird next, practically floating across the landing pad before coming to the halt before Maxson and Casdin. Kelsey was exactly as Maxson remembered. Introverted and intelligent. To use pre-war terms- _geeky_. She resembled Quinlan so much that her paternity could have been contested if anyone wanted to cause a scandal. She had not bothered to dress formally for the occasion, wearing her smart red garb that other Scribes wore back at the Citadel, and Maxson was surprisingly thankful for it. She smiled at the young Elder, holding out her hand for him to peck.

 

Despite her more casual demeanor, Maxson could still sense the barely-concealed ambition and deception behind her spectacled eyes.

 

“Such a pleasure to meet you again, Elder Maxson.”

 

Maxson felt his lips curling into a small smile, for old times’ sake. He had grown up alongside Kelsey and harboured no feelings towards her, ill or romantic. Were it not for the clutching claws of her conniving aunt Elder Jameson, he might have actually got along with her really well.

 

“Welcome to the Commonwealth, Scribe Jameson. I hope we will have enough here to satiate your curiosity.” Their exchange was brief, and Jameson smiled as she swept past them, the bottom of her robes brushing against Maxson’s feet.

 

The prim and proper Scribe Regina Rothchild was next. Not unlike her father, while somewhat pretty, what she made up for in looks she seemed to lack in personality. She bowed shortly when she was presented to Maxson and allowed him to kiss her hand, although her nose twitched as though she had caught whiff of an undesirable odour as his rough beard scratched against her skin. Like Mary Peabody, she had chosen to wear a simple cream-coloured pre-war dress, although thankfully had the sense to wear a pair of sensible and flat shoes. She practically purred Maxson’s name and expressed her hope that they would get to know each other well enough over the coming weeks.

 

“And lastly, may I present my daughter, Eleanor,” Casdin announced, his face beaming with pride as the final suitor sent from the East Coast disembarked from the vertibird.

 

Maxson could have kicked himself as he felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her.

 

The woman standing before him was certainly not the underweight, skimpy girl that Maxson remembered from his late adolescence years once he had been elected High Elder- or perhaps he had her confused with her younger sister. Casdin had made to keep his daughters away from the eyes of others upon the Outcasts return to the Citadel and Maxson admitted to himself quite reluctantly that he could see the reason why. Stunningly beautiful by Wasteland standards, she held herself with an air one could describe almost as elegant and regal. Blonde hair that shone like woven gold against the light of the setting sun and bright amber eyes within a rosy pink face, she shone like a diamond out of place within a mine of coal.

 

He felt ashamed of himself for admitting it, but Maxson could not deny that had circumstances not been entirely different, he would have found Eleanor… attractive.

 

Given the way that she carried and presented herself to him, Maxson had no doubt that Eleanor’s father had raised and groomed her for this very day. The thought of one’s daughter playing a part in continuing the Maxson legacy was appealing to anyone within the Brotherhood, let alone an Elder once ambitious enough to cut off from his division and lead his own group of Outcasts.

 

Maxson had to loosen his collar. It was damp with sweat.

 

“Elder Maxson, Sir,” Eleanor greeted him, curtseying daintily before bowing to her father beside him. “What an honour it is to be presented before you in such circumstances.” She pressed a neatly wrapped parcel into the hand he stretched out to take hers in. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of getting you a gift. A symbol, if you will, of new beginnings as we embark on this journey together.”

 

Maxson looked down at the parcel he held in his broad hands, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He had never been given a gift before. Ripping off the brown paper, he unveiled a surprisingly pristine box of rare blue label whiskey, unwrapped and its label mostly intact despite its age. He frowned, disturbed at the thought that the Casdins had taken the liberty to research into finding a gift for him that they knew he would enjoy. He could just picture the Casdins’ quarters, notebooks brimming with information collected about the Maxsons and a photo of himself adorning the wall with an altar underneath alight with candles.

 

“That is… very kind of you, Miss Eleanor,” he forced himself to reply. “How did you know that this was my favourite brand of whiskey?”

 

Eleanor beamed. “It is my duty to know your likes and dislikes, Elder Maxson,” she shrugged with a pretty laugh.

 

Maxson took her hand beneath his own, the alarm bells thundering inside his head as he hastily pressed a small kiss upon her. “Thank you for the wonderful gift, Miss Eleanor,” he said. “I shall treasure it always.”

 

Eleanor raised her hand to her face when he released it, pressing the knuckles he had kissed lovingly against her cheek. “I hope that you will save it to drink for… a special occasion,” she winked, her voice dripping with meaning. With that she turned on her heel and glided to join the Peabodys, Kelsey and Regina. Casdin looked immensely pleased at how the introduction had unfolded and followed suit after his daughter, his introductions done.

 

Maxson gulped. _Urgh. Creepy._

 

The lancer pilot fired up the engines of the Citadel’s vertibird unexpectedly and the vehicle left the confines of the airport’s landing pad, its job obviously finished for the evening. The remaining audience in the courtyard stood behind Maxson as they held down their robes and skirts in the aircraft-induced gust. “Somebody is missing,” Kells boomed, stating the obvious over the roar of the departing aircraft. “Where is Knight Howard?”

 

The occupants of the yard looked around them, as if expecting Howard to jump out at them from behind the dilapidated airport lounges. Looking furious, Kells retrieved a small radio transmitter from his pocket before stalking out of earshot and muttering fiercely into the device’s mouthpiece. Maxson remained glued to the spot, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. Anxiety, this new feeling he had only recently begun to experience because of his circumstances, began to assault him once again in full force. He forced himself to take some deep breaths, trying to maintain an image of composure despite his growing panic. Where on Earth was Howard? Had she decided to back out of their agreement? Had she forgotten that the welcoming party and first Steel Ceremony was tonight? Was she really that stup-

 

The roar of an approaching vertibird stopped Kells in his tracks and caught the attention of everyone waiting in the yard, their faces turned to evening red sky. Maxson could see the small silhouette of the Brotherhood aircraft approaching the airport from the direction of the Minutemen’s Castle. He sighed with relief.

 

The tarmac and concrete of the landing pad seemed to tremble as the aircraft touched down, the entire bird bouncing on its hind wheels as its motors began to power down. The Elder could make out the figure of Knight Howard’s familiar petite frame, a thickly armored German Shepard jumping from his mistress’s side onto the ground. Without so much as a backward glance the mutt darted past the waiting group and disappeared down the staircase into the depths of the airport ruins. Maxson caught a whiff of singed fur as he passed.

 

He saw the Knight’s knees buckle beneath her as she gingerly lowered herself from the vertibird and promptly connected with the concrete, face-planting spectacularly. Behind Maxson, the waiting Elders and ladies sniggered behind their hands. Maxson felt his face grow warm at Howard’s entrance. Whether it was from embarrassment for her, for himself or for something else entirely, he did not quite know.

 

Unperturbed at her descent, Howard straightened herself and hastily crossed the occupied vertipad towards the Elder, barely concealing a small limp as she flashed her perfectly white teeth in a warm smile. “Oh, boy! I’m falling for you already!” she exclaimed, her voice bright. Maxson felt his face grow positively hot now as he prepared himself to greet her as one would greet the preordained woman of his desire, his body sweltering like a furnace beneath his thick coat.

 

Making her way across the yard, it became apparent that the Knight appeared somewhat dishevelled, clad in a singed Minutemen outfit. Her long black hair had been pulled back into a bun, the loose wisps of her fringe framing her face. The reason for her unsteadiness on her feet was apparent. She had obviously engaged in combat and he could not understand why, given that the Knight should have been preparing throughout the day for the evening’s proceedings. Her lack of Brotherhood attire confirmed his suspicions over her tardiness.

 

Howard finally reached him, sounding slightly breathless. Maxson frowned as he inspected Howard’s face, with the beginnings of a bruise blossoming around her left eye. The traumatised skin seemed only to highlight the vivaciousness of her bright blue eyes however, and she continued to smile at Maxson when she finally reached them.

 

Howard seemed to wince a little as he caught her wrists within his gloved hands and brought them close to his face. Instead of placing a polite kiss on her hand as he had done when he greeted the other suitors, Maxson turned her soft hands over in his palm, inspecting the smattering of small cuts that covered her exposed skin. Her pipboy screen was covered in ash, which he wiped away with a thick finger. He felt a twinge of fury deep within his chest at the sight of Howard injured, albeit mildly considering the position she held in the Wasteland.

 

“Please explain, Knight,” Maxson demanded, his voice sounding rather icier than he had intended.

 

Howard, to her credit, looked guilty. “I had to attend to Minutemen matters at the Castle today, Sir,” she replied sheepishly.

 

Maxson grunted. “What sort of Minutemen matters? They could not wait until tomorrow?”

 

“I had to respond immediately to a call for me across Radio Freedom, Elder. It sounded of utmost importance.”

 

“Why have you got a bruise across your face?”

 

Her guilty look deepened. “I… may have started a brawl with a Minutemen Veteran, Sir.”

 

Maxson tugged at her wrists, pushing up her singed sleeves. “And these? You engaged in combat, didn’t you?”

 

“We may have… had some trouble with some frag mines and a sentry bot in the Castle’s tunnels. Nothing I couldn’t handle, though.”

 

Maxson felt his face contort into an expression of fury. Howard’s face paled.

 

“It was necessary, Sir. You can understand that, surely? It was a matter that could not wait.”

 

Maxson sighed despite his anger, shaking his head. While his face remained sour, he surprised himself by the unconscious change in his tone, speaking rather gently. “I am just thankful that you have returned in one piece, Knight. I hope that your business there has been concluded there for the evening?”

 

“Oh, it has,” Howard nodded. “And I can assure you, it was well worth the effort. The Minutemen can now add some choice artillery pieces to our tiny arsenal. I’d put up with a lot more than bruises and cuts for such a prize.”

 

Artillery pieces? Maxson’s ears perked up.

 

Kells, Casdin and Peabody had joined them now, obviously curious at the lingering exchange between Howard and Maxson. “It is extremely disappointing of you to be tardy, given the importance of tonight’s proceedings, Knight.” Kells frowned as he surveyed her up and down, his gaze returning to her face. “And why are you absolutely filthy?”

 

Howard rubbed at her face at Kells’ words, evidently trying to wipe off some of the grime. Her efforts only proceeded to smear the dirt even further across her face.

 

To Kells’ right, Elder Casdin looked Howard up and down with a look of disgust. “What an interesting candidate for you all to select for our Elder, Lancer-Captain Kells” Casdin drawled, his voice dripping heavily with sarcasm. The warm expression on Howard’s face faltered.

 

Maxson felt a surge of defensiveness deep within his chest at the Casdin’s comment. He grasped Howard’s left hand within his own once more, noticing that she had the foresight to remove her wedding ring. “I look forward to getting to know you a lot better, Knight Howard,” Maxson murmured, placing a soft kiss to her knuckles. He let his lips linger on her skin for a few moments longer than he had with the other suitors, looking up at her from underneath his lashes. Despite their charade, Howard’s face turned red under the dirt and grime as she blushed.

 

“Take your place beside the other ladies, Knight,” Kells ordered. Howard took her hand gently from Maxson’s where it had remained, the Elder having not yet let go. Maxson could have sworn that she had fanned herself with her hands as she hastily limped over to the waiting suitors. They shuffled slightly away from her, the looks of jealously on their faces evident across the yard.

 

The young Elder was proud of himself that he had managed to make Howard flustered. No doubt it would add credibility to their deception.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Serena arrived at the pavilion where the small party and Steel Ceremony was to be held a little earlier than Maxson and the other suitors. She neglected to mingle with the chosen women after they had arrived at Boston Airport, which had no doubt been noticed by them as they huddled together and threw her suspicious glances. She had quickly limped off to the women’s change rooms to wash the dirt off of her face and neaten her hair when Kells had whisked the group off for a quick tour around the ruins, her pride still smarting somewhat from the scrutiny of Elder Casdin. She had twisted her ankle when side-stepping away from a mine during the firefight against Sarge back at the Castle and was finding it increasingly difficult to walk without attending to it, her ankle swollen and throbbing within her boots. A quick jab of a stimpak into her achilles that she found in the first aid kit above the sinks and she felt almost back to normal again, although the large bruise that was continuing to darken around her left eye left a lot more to be desired.

 

She had taken the liberty to borrow a clean orange flight suit from a locker, donning the standard Brotherhood attire for soldiers in the field in an attempt to look more presentable after her memorable entrance. Almost two sizes too small, it took all of Serena’s polite mannerisms and self-control to stop herself from picking out the constant wedgie the extra tight fabric brought. Despite the stimpak, her gait was somewhat askew as she made her way to the location of the welcoming dinner within the airport compound, silently begging the fabric to stretch quickly.

 

Entering the pavilion, she was presented with the sight of scribes and officers alike scuttling around adding the final touches to the room, adorned with trays and glasses of drink. Serena was fondly reminded of a pre-war cocktail party, the memories it evoked leaving her feeling nostalgic. Proctor Teagan marched passed her as she stood in the doorway, his biceps straining under the weight of the large wooden crate he was holding. “What have you got there, Proctor?” Serena asked, feigning interest.

 

“An entire crateful of potted meat,” Teagan replied in an excited tone. “I found an unsigned report on my terminal this morning detailing a pre-war cannery that might still be functioning. No doubt a supply scout team I sent out had left the report for me but forgot to finish it. I sent some scribes there today to loot some rare supplies. A real treat, this. Should make a nice delicacy for the party. Potted meat pate` and razorgrain crackers! I’m not going to give them the chance to complain about the state of the food at the airport once they’ve had a taste of _this_!”

 

Serena caught the faded words of _Longneck Lukowski’s Cannery_ stamped on the side of the crate as Teagan puffed past her. Oh, how familiar that name sounded…

 

“Is that so?” Serena replied. “How… careless of the scout team not to sign it off.”

 

The Proctor grunted in response, depositing the crate of potted meat heavily beside the table spread with food. He began reaching into the container and pulled out the aluminium cans, stopping to smell each one as he tore back the lid with a hungry expression on his face.

 

Serena turned on her heel and headed for the row of empty chairs lining the wall to the side of the room.

 

It was not for another fifteen or so minutes before the revered Brotherhood Bachelor and the Citadel entourage finally arrived at the pavilion for the welcoming party to start. The women and East Coast Elders took a moment to stop and look around the room with an impressed look on their faces; Maxson looked as though he had the misfortune to catch a face full of Peabody’s flatulence. Serena hastily stood up from her chair, shaking out the pins and needles she had begun to feel tingle up her legs and strode forward to join the group. She locked eyes briefly with Maxson and smiled reassuringly, the poor Elder looking as though he was under the most grievous of sufferances.

 

Kells pushed himself politely to the front of the group before turning to face them all. “Now that we have all arrived, we would like to formally welcome our guests and thank you for taking the time to travel all of this way to join us for what I am sure will be a very special next couple of weeks. Take this time during dinner to introduce yourselves and get to know each other and the Elder. After dinner, we will begin the first Steel Ceremony, where the lady who has made the best first impression upon Elder Maxson will receive this First Impressions pin.”

 

Kells held up a worn velvet case and opened it to reveal a gold-plated Brotherhood insignia. There was a collective “ _oooooo_ ” uttered by all of the waiting ladies in unison with Casdin and Peabody. Looking at them beside her, Serena whistled, feeling obliged to play along.

 

“The lady that Elder Maxson chooses to give this pin to will have the honour of going on the first one on one date with the Elder, and will be given the opportunity to choose the activites that you will all go on together for your first group outing. As I am sure you are all aware, the first impression that you make on a person during courtship is of upmost importance.” He closed the case with a _snap_ and stood aside, moving his hand invitingly. “Please, eat, drink and enjoy yourselves.”

 

No one moved. Having not eaten since breakfast in the mess hall, Serena made a beeline for the tables of food, the smell of stale cigarettes and worn leather following close behind her. She felt Maxson’s presence keenly as she grabbed a plastic plate and made her way along the tables, inspecting the food available as the room began to fill with small noise of everybody talking. The Brotherhood had put on a surprisingly abundant spread for the welcoming party, a number of foods considered delicacies in the Wasteland prepared for the momentous occasion. The table bustled with activity as the Elders and suitors alike helped themselves to dinner and drink.

 

“I have to hand it to you Arthur boy, you’ve all certainly put on an impressive spread for us tonight.”

 

Elder Peabody had practically shadowed Serena as she had made her way along the table, his plate laden with food. Opposite them, Maxson stood helping himself to a Wasteland rendition of chilli con carne. He nodded pointedly at Serena.

 

“It’s all thanks to Knight Howard here, and her settlements,” Maxson replied. “Her farms are providing our kitchens with surplus produce. It’s keeping our troops fed with fresh food and variety. We have been very fortunate to broker a profitable alliance with the local Minutemen upon reaching the Commonwealth.”

 

“Say what now? You own some farms now, do you Miss Howard?”

 

“I help lead the local militia that coordinates and protects nearby settlements and farms, Elder,” Serena nodded.

 

“Hmmm. Well. I have certainly have had tastier produce at the Citadel, but given your farms don’t have access to a GECK, you’ve done reasonably well with your limited resources.”

 

Serena felt her face contort into a frown, her bright blue eyes widening. She could replace that smug look on Peabody’s face by stabbing her fork into his fore-

 

“This now, this stuff is delicious,” Peabody continued, moving along the table. “We can’t get stuff like this back at the Capital. Is the food not to your liking, Miss Howard?” he asked, noting Serena’s still empty plate. He spooned a liberal amount of potted meat from the tray and heaped it onto his razorgrain crackers.

 

Serena raised an eyebrow. “Not at all, Sir,” she replied. She looked pointedly at Maxson, who was holding his plate across from her. “You just… never know what sort of meats that might have been put in those tins, is all.” Her voice dripped heavy with hidden meaning.

 

The retired Elder guffawed, promptly scooping out an extra spoonful of meat at her words. “What a snob you are, Miss Howard! That’s the vault dweller in you talking, no doubt. Too used to pre-war delicacies and non-radiated food, I’m sure. More for me then!” Peabody grinned, before shoving the heaped cracker whole into his mouth.

 

Trying to mask the disgusted expression she knew she was making as she watched the gluttonous Elder tuck into his potted meat and crackers before her, Serena pulled a face at Maxson beside Peabody as the Elder crunched away, his puffy eyes closed in contentment. Pieces of razorgrain seeds landing on the floor beneath him as he took large bites out of his food, his second chin wobbling. She watched as Maxson quietly placed the cracker he had picked up back onto the platter, bypassing the potted meat and moving on to the mirelurk jerky instead. Serena followed suit.

 

“How on Earth did such a guffoon become a Brotherhood Elder?” Serena muttered to Maxson under her breath as Peabody ambled away, pretending to busy herself by scooping hubflower salad onto her plate.

 

Beside her, Maxson pulled a face. “Even the Brotherhood of Steel occasionally elects idiots, I’m afraid.” Serena snorted.

 

She continued to pick carefully from the foray of dishes available, finally filling her plate as much as she dared without appearing greedy. Her stomach grumbled loudly at the smell of cooked food. Coming up to stand behind Maxson as they both reached the end of the table, Serena nudged Maxson in the ribs and tipped her head in the direction of the seats over against the wall. “If you head over there, I’ll come and join you before one of the other girls do,” she whispered. “The less time you spend with them, the better hey?” She caught Eleanor watching her, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Serena smiled brightly at Eleanor before pretending to chew a non-existent mouthful of food, her jaw moving pointedly as she would if she were talking. Maxson left the food table and headed straight to the chairs.

 

Before any of the women had a chance to join him, Serena quickly scampered over to sit next to him as fast as her laden plate of food would allow. She could feel the eyes of everyone watching her as she confidently approached the Elder.

 

“So… do you date five women often?”

 

Maxson frowned as he looked up at her.

 

“I’m joking, Sir. An ice breaker?” She smiled, pretending to gesture at the seat next to him. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

 

“Not at all,” Maxson replied, going along with her pretence. Serena sat down gently next to the Elder, the seams of her flightsuit straining. She speared at her food with a fork, while Maxson looked down at his plate. A few moments passed in silence.

 

“Ask me some questions,” Serena prompted him quietly. “Look like you’re interested in getting to know me, Sir. Talk loudly. Get personal.”

 

Maxson seemed to gulp, although he had not yet started on his food. “What do you want me to ask?”

 

“Ask anything. Make it look like we don’t know the slightest bit about each other and are getting to know one another.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Maxson looked around the room, appearing thoughtful for a brief moment. “Well. I do have one question I’ve been meaning to ask you since you joined the Brotherhood, Knight. How are you so well adapted to using a gun and survival skills if you have only been out of the Vault for half a year?”

 

Serena smiled, not surprised at all by his question. “Typical military man. Paladin Danse asked me the exact same question after he initiated me. Why, do you think all pre-war women were hopeless little housewives who only knew how to fight with wooden spoons?”

 

“I- didn’t mean to offend, Knight Howard…”

 

Serena giggled. “I’m being sarcastic Elder. No. Believe it or not, when I graduated from high school I joined up with the army reserves for a while. It paid well enough to cover my fees for law school, and once my training and deployment was over and I was on the reserve lists I was free to be able to continue my dream to become a lawyer. Being in the reserves is how… I met Nate, my husband.” Her voice hitched in her throat, her heart throbbing at the mention of him.

 

Maxson looked genuinely surprised at her answer. “So you’d had previous training in weapons, combat and power armor?”

 

Serena nodded, trying to ignore the ache in her chest by taking a bite off of an ear of corn.

 

“That… explains a lot about your aptitude for combat then, Knight. And your husband- Nate? He went on to participate in the war?”

 

“He did, yes. He had the misfortune- or should I say fortune, rather- of being wounded on duty. He was on leave from active duty indefinitely. Looking back, I am actually thankful despite those months of pain and rehabilitation that he had to endure. It gave us plenty of time together, before…” Serena paused, the invisible hand tightening her further around her throat. Beside her, Maxson actually looked sympathetic.

 

“My turn to ask a question now, Sir,” Serena forced herself to smile, pushing the image of Nate’s loving face to the back of her mind. “So, what’s it like to be the God of the Brotherhood of Steel?’

 

Maxson’s mouth opened, but the voice that she heard in reply was not his.

 

“I am _so_ sorry to interrupt…”

 

Serena and Maxson turned in surprise to find Eleanor Casdin standing before them, her white teeth showing in a dazzling smile. She held a glass of alcohol delicately in one hand, a feigned look of innocence etched across her pretty face. She peered at Serena and then Maxson, fluttering her eyelashes.

 

“I know you won’t mind if I intrude on your conversation?”

 

Maxson gestured at the empty seat besides Serena, who scooted over slightly to allow enough room for Eleanor to sit comfortably. Eleanor completely ignored his hand and sat on the empty chair beside him, obviously sitting as close to him as she dared. The look of discomfort on Maxson’s face was immediate.

 

Serena leaned around Maxson and held out a hand politely to Eleanor. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Eleanor. Serena Howard. Knight Serena Howard.”

 

Eleanor took Serena’s outstretched hand by the tips of her fingers. “A pleasure to meet you too, Miss Howard.” She quickly let go of Serena’s hand. Serena did not miss that Eleanor appeared to wipe her hand afterward subtly on the skirt of her dress. The Casdin daughter perched herself delicately on the chair, inching ever closer towards Maxson. “It is so lovely to finally get to sit down and talk with you properly, Elder Maxson. I have _so_ been looking forward to get to know you better.”

 

Maxson’s face was etched with a glorious scowl. Serena was proud.

 

“Oh! Miss Howard? I forgot to mention! My father would like a quick word with you, if you please,” Eleanor added, fluttering those annoyingly long lashes. “He’s just over by the tables?” She pointed a dainty finger towards the opposite wall of the room where the dinner dishes were held, her father standing next to the alcohol.

 

Serena frowned. “In other words, get lost, you mean?”

 

Eleanor laughed, the sound shrill and ingenuine. “Not at all Miss Howard! It’s just that he is a High Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, of course, and if he wants to speak to someone, it is important that they do not keep him waiting.”

 

The look that Maxson shot Serena made her feel guilty as she reluctantly stood. “Very well, Miss Casdin,” she replied somewhat sourly. “I will leave you and the Elder be.” She distinctly heard Maxson groan as she headed towards Eleanor’s father.

 

Casdin stood beside the liquor table, running his finger around the rim of his glass of whiskey. “Ahhh, Knight Howard,” he smiled at her. Serena was not fooled by his pretence- his smile was as fake as the Preston Garvey imposter. “I’ve been hoping to get a chance to talk with you.”

 

Serena placed her hand on her hip. “Well, here I am, Elder.”

 

Casdin looked her up and down. “I see you have taken the liberty of cleaning yourself up, Knight. I am surprised.”

 

Serena said nothing, her eyebrow raised.

 

Casdin reached forward and poured more whiskey into his glass. “I wanted to ask you, now that we are alone. What are your intentions towards Elder Maxson, Knight?”

 

“My intentions, Sir?”

 

“Yes Knight Howard. Your intentions. Towards our High Elder.”

 

Serena was surprised at his question, given the circumstances she had found herself asked to be in during the past week. “Well,” she began slowly, “you tell me, Sir. I had no say in being involved in these proceedings. Apparently getting to know him a little better is supposed to be the first priority of every lady here? I suppose my intention at present is getting to know him? Isn’t that what is expected of me?”

 

“You were not the sort of woman we were expecting to be chosen from the Prydwen’s crew, Knight Howard.”

 

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

 

“I know all about you and your hidden agenda, Mrs. Pre-War Vault Dweller. Don’t think I haven’t done my research. You are using the Brotherhood of Steel to achieve your own personal goals in finding your abducted child. You have no intent of staying within the Brotherhood in the foreseeable future once Maxson has delivered everything he can to your pleas for help. You are simply going to waste valuable resources and distract the Elder from his responsibilities and his duties in ensuring that the Brotherhood maintains its’ proper place as the apex faction of the entire Wasteland.”

 

“His duties? As in marrying and making mini-Maxsons, you mean? How am I going to distract him from doing that? I thought the whole point of this whole shebang was that so Maxson could-”

 

“Stay away from Maxson,” Casdin growled, his expression dark. “Or I will see to it that the Brotherhood has _nothing_ to do with helping you find your child. _Nothing_.” He paused, his features heavy with hatred. Despite her confidence, Serena’s face fell at these words.

 

“We will be watching you, Knight Howard.”

 

He fished into the depths of his long Elder robes, producing a choice pre-war cigar out of his pocket. Lighting the cigar, he took a number of large puffs before blowing a final puff of smoke thickly into Serena’s face. He discarded his lighter onto the table and strode off to join Kells and Peabody where they stood chatting animatedly, the conversation obviously over.

 

Her pulse pounded heavily in her ears as Serena seethed inwardly at Casdin’s threat. Over her shoulder, she could see the Elder talking away to Peabody as if nothing had happened, an expression of mirth across his face. Behind him on the far wall, she could see Eleanor laughing dramatically over something that Maxson appeared to have said, unperturbed by the thunderous look on Maxson beside her. Serena’s eyes returned to the discarded flip lighter on the table.

 

Call it spur of the moment or a second of ingenuity- Serena liked to think she was well known for those- she grabbed at the flip lighter, confirming with a quick flick that it was working. A used napkin, no doubt left there by Casdin, was promptly set alight. She took a moment to pretend to sneeze, pushing out her hands dramatically and overturning Casdin’s glass of whiskey, adding the alcohol to the table cloth beside the burning napkin for good measure. She quickly dropped the flip lighter as though it were a hot coal and strode in the direction of Mary, Kelsey and Regina where they stood picking at their dinner plates, under the pretence of striking up a conversation.

 

It took surprisingly longer than Serena had anticipated for the smell of smoke to begin to fill the room as the tablecloth finally caught alight. She immediately felt her lungs constrict at the smell, her eyes beginning to water as the room’s ventilation blew the smoke directly towards her and the other ladies. Right on cue, the other suitors squealed dramatically and danced around on the spot, before their voices turned quickly into screams. Over by the wall, Maxson jumped to his feet, his face shocked at the sight of the dinner table promptly going up in flames.

 

Serena clutched at the girls as she coughed, pushing them in the direction of the door. “Ladies! Out! Get out! Now!” They did not need to be told twice, although Serena had to all but yank Mary’s heels off of her as she tried to toddle out of the room on her stilts. Clearly not the sharpest tool in the Brotherhood shed.

 

There was a flurry of activity at the door as people tried to squeeze into the room to extinguish the fire and other people tried to squeeze out, Maxson’s face strained as he helped pull Peabody out of the way of the fumes as Scribes and Knights ran forward with extinguishers. The party’s guests all fled to the fresh air of the Boston Airport’s vertipad, the sounds of commotion as the soldiers on duty tended to the blaze ringing loudly in everyone’s ears. It took some time before the group finally settled, faces as red as tomatoes as everyone looked aghast at what had just happened. Serena had no difficulty pretending to look shocked.

 

“That was… unexpected,” Kells finally huffed, politely holding onto Eleanor’s arm as she clutched at her father with her other, a terrified expression on her face. “I think that given that…significant turn of party events, we should perhaps commence the first Steel Ceremony and retire for the evening?”

 

Elders Casdin and Peabody nodded. Looking over at Maxson, Serena was not surprised to see his face shooting daggers at anyone and everyone present.

 

Kells gestured to the Serena and the other suitors. “If you ladies would all wait in a line over there,” he pointed, “then we may begin.” He fished the velvet box containing the gold-plated pin from his pocket as the ladies slowly formed into a horizontal line, facing Maxson and his peers. Silence echoed dramatically around the yard for a few brief moments.

 

Peabody belched loudly.

 

“Oh my. Excuse _me_ ,” he had the decency to look ashamed of himself. His round face was noticeably redder than usual, his face strained with tension. “I do apologise. I do not… do not feel right at all. Must have been the excitement from that fire, hey Casdin?” He slapped at Casdin’s shoulder, who pulled a face. Quickly looking around, Serena noted the many uncomfortable expressions that had begun to dawn on the faces of everyone present. Peabody belched loudly again.

 

“Elder Maxson, Sir,” Mary Peabody squeaked, her posture slumped forward as she appeared to clutch at her abdomen. “Might I be excused to go to the ladies, please?”

 

Serena watched on as Maxson nodded. “Of course,” he replied. “Captain Kells, if you would…?” At his response, Regina and Kelsey promptly stepped forward, their faces noticeably perspiring despite the limited evening light. Kells, his face tight, pushed the velvet box into Maxson’s hands and beckoned at the ladies as he began to lead the way into the depths of the airport bathrooms. One might say, given his haste, that Kells might have needed the lavatories too. Elder Peabody followed as closely as he could behind them. Elder Casdin and Eleanor remained standing in the yard with Maxson and Serena, their expressions grim.

 

Serena remained standing straight, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared before her in typical Brotherhood soldier fashion. Maxson, looking surprised at the sudden exit of so many of his guests, brushed his hands absently against the velvet of the pin box. “Well, I suppose we should probably postpone-“

 

“No. Please continue,” Casdin interrupted shortly, his eyebrows furrowed. Across from him besides Serena, Eleanor began to moan softly, rocking slightly back and forth on her heels as she could contain her discomfort no longer.

 

“Father… I must… please, I must go to the ladies as well,” Eleanor seemed to gasp, the veins in her temples visible as she strained against an internal battle. The composed and confident image that she had displayed only half an hour ago had disappeared, her shiny golden hair suddenly dull and oily-looking with sweat. His face fuming, Casdin scowled openly at Serena before clasping his daughter’s arm through his and making a beeline in the direction of the lavatories, practically dragging his daughter before she embarrassed herself with a blowout.

 

Serena and Maxson remained alone in the vertipad courtyard, facing each other in silence. It took all of Serena’s self-control not to appear chuffed. The entire debacle could not have worked out more smoothly for her than if she spent days planning it.

 

“I suppose due to… unforeseen events, you’re the only one left standing at present to receive this First Impressions pin,” Maxson finally broke the silence. Serena grinned as Maxson snapped open the box, removing the gold-plated emblem from its pincushion and crossing over to her with three long strides. “There leaves no other choice then. Knight Howard, will you accept this token?”

 

Serena felt like she ought to have curtseyed or bowed, given the circumstances. Instead, she remained standing straight. “I will, Elder Maxson.”

 

She suppressed a shiver as she felt Maxson’s hand brush across the fabric of her collarbones, pinning the shiny emblem to her flightsuit above her breast. He stood back a fraction before surveying her with his formidable stare, his expression unreadable. She gasped softly as he gathered one of her hands within his own unexpectedly, touching his lips softly to her skin for a few moments.

 

“The fire? Was that you?” Maxson finally drawled, his fingers caressing her knuckles where his lips had brushed as the faintest hint of a smile began to tease across his mouth.

 

Serena tried her best not to look guilty.

 

He seemed to take her silence for an answer. “I must commend you on your timing, Knight. I fully expected her to begin fondling me at one point.” He paused, looking in the direction of the airports’ lavatories. “And are you going to tell me what exactly was in that potted meat? Or do I have to use my imagination?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sir,” Serena replied innocently.

 

* * *

 

**It comes on super quickly. The movie _Bridesmaids_ says so, ok? :P**

 


End file.
